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Dov Charney, Like It or Not

At that, the phone clicks. "Hold on," he says. Talking to Charney, in person or on the phone, is an exercise in patience and stamina. Marty Bailey told me that Charney answers his phone every time it rings, no matter how important the meeting. When Charney clicks back over, he doesn't apologize. In his management style, this is normal--conversations are constantly interrupted--and so he's a master of picking back up on his last thought.

I had just read a New York Times article that largely praised the retail stores but took exception with what the reporter felt was an unnecessary flaunting of sex; in particular, she questioned the use of porn magazine covers as decoration outside the dressing rooms. I ask Charney what he thinks.

"The peanut gallery is so hard on the big boys," he says. "When you make it, expect them to be all over you--hang on a second."

He clicks over, then back.

"Sexuality's been tied into fashion since Paris in the 1600s--I'm writing a position paper about this now. There were drawings of women in corsets hundreds of years before the telephone. But now there's this sex phobia. It's a waste of time--just a second, I'm sorry."

Holding again.

"People are the cash registers. I don't think sweatshop-free sells garments--it just makes good garments--hang on…"

Doo doo doo…

"There was a time briefly when I saw 'Look, we're sweatshop-free'--pardon me…"

The twiddling of fingers…

"The market is democratic. It's not for nothing that our stores are tracking huge numbers. Is it because people are seduced by this false tribalism? Pardon me."

Holding again.

"You can't argue that Levi's knows jeans anymore. It's all outsourced. Our shirts are better because we make them. They're better because they're not made in a sweatshop. It's gourmet quality, like the Colombian guy who makes coffee from his own handpicked beans--be right back."

Twiddling of fingers.

"We don't have branding on the shirts; it's not a status symbol. There's something to the branding but I think people buy them because they're good. Think of the last time you went to Dolce and Gabbana. Did you really find something you like? Honestly? More like, it was a pleasant experience--had a good walk, thanks for the coffee, but...Excuse me."

He clicks over again.

"Listen, the Oui magazines aren't gonna be there forever. In fact, we're already taking them down." He chuckles. "We're putting up Playgirl instead just to f-- with people."

One afternoon, I find myself standing on the corner outside of the Lower East Side store, waiting for Charney to come back from his apartment. He had excused himself for 10 minutes to take a shower, but he left with yet another young, messy-haired female employee, and the 10 minutes had now become 30. I decide to watch people shop. The store is constantly busy and nearly everyone who enters comes out with a bag. What's more, even the people who don't stop, who are merely passing by, seem to take notice. I hear a girl explain to her boyfriend that the ads "use only real models," while another points out to a pal that "these guys make great quality T-shirts." Someone else talks about "made in L.A.--no sweatshops."

Without running one commercial, American Apparel has infected the populace with its message...or at least that segment of the populace that matters.

Amazing. Without running one commercial, having advertised exactly once in a magazine with a circulation over 100,000, American Apparel has infected the populace with its message--or at least that segment of the populace that matters.

A videotape loops in the store VCR, Charney waxing over and over on the American Apparel way. Nearby, a set of photos accents a girl's plump behind, clad in a pair of very short shorts.

It's one thing on the Lower East Side or in Echo Park, but will this sort of propaganda work in Louisville, or even on the Upper West Side?

Charney has no doubt. He will expand until his cash runs out and then he'll borrow some more. "Wherever there are young people with a little creativity and a little money," he says, "we'll be there."

With a few exceptions, his stores are tracking 10 times the rent. On Broadway, he just had his first $30,000 day.

"It's sickening money, man. We're minting money."

And Charney is having the time of his life.

"Give me the chance of going to Harvard or being there when Google started and I want to be there making $3 an hour sweeping their floors. Or Apple when Steve Jobs started it.

"Maybe I'm delusional but that's what I think American Apparel is."

Josh Dean is a New York City-based writer who has contributed to Rolling Stone, Outside, and Travel + Leisure, among other magazines. This is his first story for Inc.